Madreselva
by ManfredsAwesomeAdmin95
Summary: Grimmjow and Montparnasse team up to solve a mystery on the streets of Paris, while Jean Prouvaire comes to terms with becoming the first Living Arrancar. Rated T for mentions of violence and rape, though the latter isn't detailed. No pairings.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or Les Miserables!** **Trigger warning for mentions of rape and violence.**

* * *

"A sixth boss?! Are you insane?!"

"And why him? He just joined the Patron Minet a month ago. How can you be so sure of his trustworthiness?!"

"Oui, he's a brute with no taste and no finesse, and his temper is likely to get him killed, if his attitude doesn't first."

"Aw, are ya really that jealous, 'Parnasse?" Grimmjow asked with a smirk, which only infuriated the dark-haired dandy who had just spoken up.

"Watch your tongue!" Montparnasse hissed, face flushing in rage and embarrassment. Grimmjow's smirk grew wider.

"Why? You're just too easy to mess with, kiddo." For someone who looked so much like stone-cold Ulquiorra, this French brat was proving to be quite entertaining for the panther. Man, he loved the human world! Especially now, in the 1800's, when people were getting even more rebellious than they had ever been before toward their monarchs. Even now, as he stood being inducted into a mortal gang, a bunch of Parisian college students were planning a revolution against the French king, who he had to admit was a total asshat. Grimmjow knew that most, if not all of them would be killed by the French National Guard when the day came, but he was still rooting for them, simply because of the chaos he knew they would cause. If he hadn't met up with Claquesous first, he might've even joined their little rebellion. As it happened, Claquesous had been impressed with the way he dealt with a couple of scumbags who were trying to take advantage of a young woman. That woman turned out to be Eponine, the daughter of one of the gang's bosses, Thenardier. That deed, done almost a month ago, was what had led him here.

"Ask the Thenardier girl why we should trust him, Montparnasse, since you won't listen to me," Claquesous said calmly, bringing Grimmjow back to the present. "Or have you forgotten that she wouldn't be here if he hadn't proven himself that day?" Of course, this shut the dandy up rather effectively, and brought the other two skeptics, Brujon and Babet, into agreement as well. "Tres bien! Grimmjow Jaggerjaques, you are now the sixth head of the Patron Minet. Continue to prove yourself, and you will do very well here, I'm sure. Now, onto other business…"

The rest of the meeting, Grimmjow tuned out. Talking had always bored him, as an Espada and in his human life. He'd come here because there was nothing to do in Hueco Mundo but talk, eat, and sleep. The panther was bored out of his mind. Finally, Claquesous dismissed them to go do their own things, and Grimmjow happily left…only to be followed by Montparnasse. The blue-haired male didn't even turn to look at him. "What do ya want, brat?"

"Where do you think you're going? And don't you dare call me a brat, you insufferable brute!"

"Out. What's it to ya, kid?"

"I'm not a kid, damn it, I'm nineteen! And we still have a score to settle. You humiliated me in there!"

"Cry me a river."

"I will not tolerate such disrespect!"

"Then quit acting like a spoiled child. It makes ya a bigger target. Now quit following me and go home."

"Why should I?"

"Because _I'm_ going home, and I don't want to deal with your antics the whole way there," Grimmjow growled, becoming irritated. "Besides, ya need all the sleep ya can get before tomorrow."

"Oh, how sweet, you care for my wellbeing-" Montparnasse retorted, but he was cut off by a loud scream that came from one of the more unsavory parts of Patron Minet's territory within the town. Grimmjow took off like a shot as soon as he heard it, trying to follow the sound. Montparnasse was having a hard time keeping up with him. "Where are you going now?!"

"To figure out who's moving in on our turf. If that scream came from a guy being attacked by one of our rivals, then it's our responsibility to help him out!" The screams kept coming, and they sounded pained, so Grimmjow ruled out simple robbery right off the bat. The victim was either being beaten within an inch of his life, or…he didn't want to think of the alternative. "If we don't hurry, they'll kill him before we get there, and Claquesous will have our heads! Get a move on!" Grimmjow was moving as fast as his gigai would allow him to, but it still wasn't fast enough. The screams stopped. The panther would have to rely on his sense of smell, now. The scent of blood was in the air, so thick he could almost taste it. He could tell that his mortal companion thought the young man was already dead, but that didn't stop him. He had to be sure. The voice behind the scream sounded so familiar, and so vulnerable…

There it was again! They were close, and he was still alive, still in danger. Grimmjow followed the sound to an alley a few blocks away, but when he got there, all he saw was blood. There was no body, which puzzled him. Had someone kidnapped the guy _after_ they beat him up? That didn't make any sense. A rival gang would have left the body for them to find in order to send a message; they wouldn't take the victim and leave the blood. When Montparnasse showed up, he was still examining the scene, but he muttered, "We're too late." The faint smell of honeysuckle intertwined with the scent of blood, confirming the lost victim's identity in Grimmjow's mind.

 *****Episode 1: The Sixth Boss*****

Jean Prouvaire was in pain. Not just any pain, either. This was the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life, and it engulfed his whole body. The world around him was darker then night, and he couldn't move. It felt like he was suffocating, yet still being forced to breathe. He knew he wasn't dead, and wished he was; surely death was better than this agony! Yet his eyes still fluttered open. He wasn't in the alley anymore, but in a dimly lit room. He could feel a bed beneath him, and cold metal cuffs around his wrists. He was chained to the bedframe. The blonde could make out a figure sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at him, and as Jean's eyes focused more and more, he could tell that the figure was slender but masculine, with pink hair, amber eyes hidden behind intricate silver glasses, and a wicked smile plastered on thin lips.

"Now now," the man cooed, "don't strain yourself. I wouldn't want you to die before my experiment comes to fruition. Go back to sleep, my little pet." As much as this 'experiment' worried Jean, he couldn't help but obey the strange man, and thus fell asleep once more. The pain faded as he drifted off, and he didn't dream.

A full day and night of slumber felt like mere seconds, but when he woke again, Jean Prouvaire felt stronger than ever. The pain came back, but he paid it no mind. What he felt now was anger, red and searing rage at the fact that he was here, chained to a bed at the mercy of some stranger. At the fact that he hadn't been able to defend himself in that alley. At the fact that he had never been able to rely on himself, only on others. He sat up quickly and looked down at himself; his clothes, which had been shredded by that monster of a woman, were completely gone, replaced by a crisp white outfit that looked completely foreign. He hated white. It was so plain and devoid of color, and it made him look too much like his captor. The furious poet tried to get up, but the chains held his wrists behind him, making him angrier.

"Ah, you survived," the pink-haired man said, gliding gracefully into the room. "Perfect! However, I can't consider the experiment a success until I run a few more tests on you-"

"You won't lay another finger on me!" Jean shouted.

"My, my, watch that temper!" his captor cooed in amusement. "I'm afraid you can't really do anything to stop me, unless of course you break free, which I seriously doubt you will. You're still far too weak from your injuries, not that you were that strong before you sustained them." As the man kept prattling on, Jean felt something swelling inside him. The scent of honeysuckle took over the room. The poet began fighting the chains as hard as he possibly could. He felt a new strength, a completely foreign power, aiding him in his struggle.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, holding the pink-haired man's throat in a vicelike grip. The man seemed to be panicking, but soon fell unconscious from lack of oxygen. Jean could have killed him, but he didn't. Instead, he saw that the cuffs, while no longer chained to the bedframe, were still on his wrists, so he searched for the key, quickly finding it in one of the man's pockets and freeing himself. Finally, he stood, leaving the man passed out on the floor, and found his way out of the house he'd been kept in. He managed to make his way home before sunrise without anyone noticing him simply because it turned out to be not that far away, and he was running with more speed than he'd ever had before. As soon as he got to his apartment, he changed out of that disgusting white robe and pants ensemble, and into an outfit that he would normally wear. However, that didn't feel right, either, so he changed again. The black pants, dark green vest, and off-white long-sleeved shirt that he'd received from his father as a birthday present last year but never worn seemed to suit him nicely now. Jean completed the look by braiding his hair, as he always did, adding a few honeysuckle blossoms to the weave. That, he refused to change. Honeysuckle had always been his favorite flower, and now it was even more so. The smell of the blossoms made him smile as he gathered his things for class. Today was a new day.

 *****Episode 1: The Sixth Boss*****

Grimmjow had tried all weekend to forget about the young poet, but those screams still rang in his ears every time he saw one of the guy's revolutionary friends. They all wondered where he had disappeared to, and pretty soon, the Espada found himself confessing what he knew to their blond leader, Enjolras, if he remembered correctly. "Your friend…I know why he disappeared."

"Prouvaire, you mean? How would you know about him? Unless, of course, you and the rest of the Patron Minet are behind his kidnapping…or worse." The young man glared at him accusingly, and Grimmjow honestly couldn't blame him.

"We didn't do anything to him, I swear! I just…I was out on a walk the other night with one of the other bosses, and we heard screaming, so we went to check it out, make sure no one was overstepping their boundaries. I thought the voice sounded familiar…in any case, we ran as fast as we could, but when we finally found the scene, there was no one there. No trace of a body, either. Just a whole lot of blood, and a couple of trampled honeysuckle blossoms."

"No body…?"

"Nope. I'm sorry. I should've run faster…"

"He's still alive," Enjolras declared.

"We don't know that for sure."

"If he was dead, they would have found his body, and Inspector Javert would be questioning all of us. I haven't seen Javert since before the last time I saw Prouvaire."

"That doesn't mean he's alive!"

"Maybe, but it's something to hold on to, for now, at least. You don't even know what actually happened to him."

"Whatever. Just…" Grimmjow was about to say 'Don't get your hopes up,' but he wanted the boy to be alive as much as his little friends did. "Take it easy on him if… _when_ you see him again, will ya? I know he's had to deal with a lot of pain, even if I didn't see it happen, and he needs all the support he can get. Ya got that?"

"Of course!"

"Good. Have fun with your revolution. Vive la France, and whatnot." With that, Grimmjow stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark blue vest, turned around, and walked away with a slightly clearer conscience. At least someone else knew about the poet. It wasn't just him and the green-eyed punk. He figured Claquesous should probably know, as well, if he didn't already, but something Enjolras said earlier struck a chord with him. He really _didn't_ know exactly what happened to Jean Prouvaire that night, and he'd only barely investigated the scene when he got there. In normal time, which according to Aizen was completely linked to the Soul Society but not Hueco Mundo (It was somewhere in the 2000's at the moment), the crime scene would've been crawling with detectives the moment it was found, documented, and cleaned up good as new. However, this was Paris in 1831; no one paid as much attention to the slums now as they did in the modern world. Still, he knew someone would eventually clean up that alley simply because of the stench, so he had to act fast if he wanted to do a more in-depth investigation. As such, he went to the one brat he knew could help him the most.

"Ugh, why am I the one you chose to drag along for this _investigation_?" Montparnasse quipped.

"Because ya already know everything I know about what happened, and you're the most detail-oriented guy I know in this town. Now quit your whinin'!" Grimmjow retorted. It didn't take them nearly as long to get to their destination as it had when they were following Jean's voice. Thankfully, the scene was still intact when they got there, even though it had been two days since the incident. "Ya bring all the stuff I asked for?"

"Yes," Montparnasse sighed, rolling his eyes. "A magnifying glass, several empty coin purses, a pair of forceps, and two pairs of gloves. I'm still having trouble figuring out why you need those, though. I've never known you to be afraid to get your hands dirty."

"I still ain't. It has nothing to do with fear, and everything to with not messin' up the evidence. Ya got those coin purses from some posh store, right?"

"Of course I did!"

"Good, then they should still be perfectly clean on the inside. We'll use those to contain whatever we find."

"And what do you expect to do with this stuff once we find it?" the green-eyed teen asked skeptically.

"I know a guy who can help us examine it. Not a cop, more of a freelance detective. He's an ex-con who started solving murders, robberies, and other crimes several years ago. Guy's a freakin' genius when it comes to this stuff. For now, though, let's just focus on the task at hand. Get your gloves on, take that magnifying glass, and start lookin' wherever ya see blood."

"What am I looking _for_ exactly?"

"Hair, small bits of cloth, basically anything that looks out of place, or like it could belong to the victim or the perpetrator," the Espada answered, already pulling on his gloves. "I'm gonna look around the rest of the alley for bigger pieces of evidence, then see if I can find anyone who might've witnessed what happened."

"Fine, but we better not take too long. Claquesous is expecting us for another meeting tonight, and he really hates it when we're late. You do realize we have to tell him about this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. We'll tell him at the meeting. Right now, we need to find out what we can, so don't waste any time," Grimmjow replied, mildly irritated. With that, they set about their work.

In the span of two hours, they found hair samples from three different people, several small scraps of fabric, a few dried up honeysuckle blossoms, a tattered hair ribbon, and a few stubborn witnesses who told them what they already knew, though one man did remark that he'd stopped paying attention to the antics of the neighborhood's population of prostitutes a long time ago. That in turn made Grimmjow adjust his vague list of suspects. The rival gang theory was thrown out completely, when the man finally confessed that he had definitely heard two voices, one male and one female, before the screaming and fighting started. Unfortunately, he didn't recognize who the female voice belonged to, so Grimmjow left him alone, and went back to Montparnasse. "You 'bout done, kid?" he grumbled.

"Oui, what took you so long? Were you torturing them?" the teen asked, half-joking.

"Nah, that last guy just took a while to give me a straight answer, that's all."

"Right. Let's go find your little inspector friend, then, shall we? We haven't got all day."

"I know, and he's not my _inspector friend_. He's just some guy I met once or twice when I first got to Paris. Helped me out of a couple scrapes with the law. C'mon, I know where his office is. Shouldn't take too long to get there."

Sure enough, the journey only took about fifteen minutes of running through the streets of Paris and trying to avoid knocking people over as they passed. The office that they came to looked a bit shabby, but then again, so did most of the town. The sign over the door simply said 'Surete'. Grimmjow grinned as he opened the door and strode inside, with Montparnasse trailing behind him. "Oi, old man where're ya at?!" the Espada shouted cockily.

"You know that's not my name, monsieur. Why must you always be so rude to me?" an older male voice asked. A moment later, the owner of the voice came out of a back room to meet them. Everything about the man's body was a bit chubby, and although he wore a polite smile, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that betrayed how cunning he really was. "Grimmjow Jaggerjaques, I haven't seen you since last year, when you started that little brawl in one of the taverns. You haven't gotten yourself into more trouble, have you?"

"Nah, _Eugene-Francois Vidocq_ ," Grimmjow sneered jokingly, "but I heard that you ran into some. Bankruptcy, huh? Guess the straight-and-narrow ain't for everyone. Congrats on gettin' reinstated, though. Don't have a clue how ya managed that, but I'm glad ya did."

"Oh? And why is that? What brings you and your friend to my door?"

"We're investigating a case of our own," Montparnasse answered, glaring at Grimmjow, "and this _oaf_ says you can help us."

Vidocq chuckled. "He doesn't seem to like you very much, Grimmjow. Very well, what do you need help with?"

"A guy disappeared on our turf a couple nights ago, and we're trying to figure out what happened to him. One of the witnesses I talked to said that he heard one of the local prostitutes arguing with the guy before things got violent and he started screaming bloody murder. We haven't found a body, yet, but we think we may have a lead on who the victim is. What we need to know is if you've got a profile on any particularly violent hookers in your records," Grimmjow answered.

"Ah, I think I may know the woman you're looking for. It'll take me a moment to find her record, but I do have it." Vidocq went back into the room he had been in when they arrived, coming out a few minutes later with the record he'd been searching for. "Here you are," he said, handing it to Grimmjow. "Her name is Rose Bouchard."

"I know, I can read! Damn, she's got a bad rap…she's notorious for trying to force herself on guys who refused her 'services'?"

"Sounds like she did the same with that little poet," Montparnasse surmised, "only he couldn't get away from her. The only thing that doesn't make sense is why she would do that, and _then_ kidnap him."

"She didn't," Grimmjow replied. "If we go and _interrogate_ her, I have a feeling she'll confirm he was still there when she left the alley."

"And what makes you think _that_?"

"Remember those hair samples we found at the scene? You said one of 'em was sorta long and pink. I'm pretty sure a hooker's not gonna have pink hair." 'At least, not in _this_ day and age,' Grimmjow added mentally.

"Then let's go find her and prove it!"

"Best of luck to you, then, monsieurs," Vidocq said with a smile, taking back his record and waving them off. "You'll need it," he muttered.

 *****End Episode 1: The Sixth Boss*****


End file.
